


Midnight Revelations

by internetboyfriends



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Rehabilitation, Shingeki no Kyojin: Kuinaki Sentaku | Attack on Titan: No Regrets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-05
Updated: 2014-03-15
Packaged: 2018-01-14 15:34:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1271887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/internetboyfriends/pseuds/internetboyfriends
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life-changing mistakes are turning Levi into his own worst enemy. Running out of options, all that's left for this twenty-nine-year-old artist is to succumb to the will of what few friends he has left in order to clear is tainted name and live a normal life in peace. However, in-between his addictions and his denial, he isn't sure just how much he can take. And with that blond bastard seemingly lurking around every corner, he's bound to break eventually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, dear friends and readers! Just a few things to note. I had posted this story before (sort of) and ended up taking it down because I decided to go a different direction with it and wanted to start from scratch. So I took a good half of a story I had already written, scrapped that crap, and began anew! I like this one much better. It's more comfortable to write and is flowing much better than the old one. If you were reading more former story, Such Small Hands, this is the re-write. I've given it a new name and a new beginning! There will be pieces of the old story in this one, but everything has been reworked. I just realized that what I had come up with before was far below my skills and was very disappointed in myself. Also, Farlan Church is sort of my guilty pleasure, so getting him into this story has been a REALLY big deal to me. I really love his characterization so far with the Birth of Levi manga and including him here is a real dream come true. I hope I can do him some justice. 
> 
> Additionally, I've also darkened up this story quite a lot from where it used to be and would like to warn you now that - especially because this is a fanfiction taking place in a rehabilitaiton facility - that there may be a variety of trigger warnings on a broad scale. On top of that, I consider Hanji and Nanaba non-binary characters and mean no disrespect to any identity whatsoever when I refer to Hanji as female and Nanaba as male. They are two of my favorite characters in the Shingeki no Kyojin series and I would like to keep them as gender neutral as I can; however, for my own creative purposes, and for those who are unfamiliar with gender fluid and non-binary characters, I am simplifying some things. Please understand that I mean no disrespect to anyone who may be sensitive toward this issue. It is also something I would like the characters to address for themselves in due time.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading my story. I hope that you stick with me and don't throw rocks at me if I'm slow to update or if I make some mistakes. I've taken a slight (two year) vacation from writing and I'm happy it's all coming back to me now. I'm so used to writing Shizaya (Durarara!!) fanfiction that I hope I can take on my SnK OTP successfully. Feedback is always welcomed, especially when it comes to serious matters of opinion and I am open to discuss; however, I do have a large majority of this story planned out and I am looking forward to seeing where I can get it to go!

“Where is she?”

 

Silence.

 

“Why isn’t she with me?”

 

A sigh.

 

“Do you know where you are right now?”

 

_I’m driving to her. I’m going to get her back. I’m going to- No._

 

“Hospital. Answer my question. Where is she?”

 

Realization.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“That’s not the right answer. Where. Is. She.”

 

Distress.

 

“You know as well as I do.”

 

“No. You don’t understand. She should be here!”

 

“Levi…”

 

Sympathy? _Pity_.

 

“Don’t. Don’t you fucking dare. She’s supposed to be here. She’s supposed to come for me. Tell me where the hell she is.”

 

“I… You know I can’t.”

 

“Why the hell not!?”

 

“You need to stay calm. I-”

 

“Screw calm. I _need_ her. She’s my emergency fucking contact. Bring her to me. Now.”

 

“Please, Levi. I get that you’re drugged and you've been hallucinating, but try to be rational about this…”

 

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do! Why isn't she here? Why wouldn't she be with me right now. She’s my emergency contact. She’s my-”

 

“She’s gone.”

 

Terror.

 

“No. That’s not possible. I… that’s not what I- that isn’t why...”

 

“You did this on purpose didn’t you…? You meant for this to happen…”

 

“Tch...”

 

“Damn it! Are you seriously that desperate?! You could have died!”

 

_Exactly_.

 

“That isn’t the point…”

 

“Jesus Christ, Levi… what the hell is wrong with you…? How could you have let yourself go like this? Who the hell are you?”

 

Good question.

 

“I don’t feel like talking about this with you.”

 

“Levi…”

 

“No. Stop.”

 

“Levi, it’s been fifteen months… It’s time to give up. She isn’t coming back…”

 

A painful reminder.

 

“I don’t believe you.”

 

“You should get some sleep… This will all be easier to understand with a clearer head.”

 

“My head is fine.”

 

“Then maybe it’s your heart that’s not…”

  
The honest truth.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I'm a terribly slow updater... Aaahh. I've been having some trouble writing on top of having a busy schedule and that hurts my soul. I want to start writing again so much! But busy busy... I'm also trying to take things from a different angle by writing more oneshots to prepare myself for a long something or another (like this). I hope that helps.

Five days of avoiding the truth and keeping with the same drug-induced argument had come and gone. Five days, strapped down to an uncomfortably soft bed had passed by at an agonizing pace. Five days of insisting to hell and back that everyone was wrong and, still… She never showed her face. Three out of those five days, I could not have been convinced otherwise. I don’t know if it was the medications or just the feeling of failure that had me in such denial. However… by the last two, it was obvious.

I’d been wrong all along…

I have officially buried myself alive.

“How are you feeling today?”

_Like hell…_

I look up from my restraints, offering my attention to one of the few people I have left - Farlan Church. He’s asking like he wants to care… like maybe he’s worried, but the frown on his face and his knitted eyebrows say otherwise. He’s always been like family to me… for as long as I can remember. We had always been brothers, no matter how many times the system chewed us up and spat us out. Just a couple of fucked up kids looking for our places in the world. And we did! We found where it was that we belonged. We found ourselves a righteous path of success, removing ourselves from street gangs and petty crimes until-

_I’ve ruined everything._

The thought forces my semi-sedated gaze away from him while twisting my stomach in a tight knot. I shift my eyes to the ceiling, raising my arms as much as the padded cuffs trapping me by my wrists will allow.

“Sorry… there isn’t much I can do about that…”

“I’m not going to try anything, Farlan…” I meekly insist. I’m still so exhausted I can barely move. My muscles are weak and my body is stiff. I’ve been lying on my back for far too long. The treatment here is a joke; it’s like I’m some sort of endangered species on display for nurses and med students.

“It’s not my place,” he tells me, shaking his head. “They’re for your own safety.”

“ _Safety_?” I echo, “They’re intrusive on my existence as a human being. I haven’t been able to take a proper shit in _days_ , let alone a shower. I feel disgusting.”

“Shouldn’t you have considered that before driving your car off of the interstate?”

I don’t know what he’s talking about. I haven’t been able to remember anything since “waking up” in the hospital five days ago. According to Farlan and my doctors, I tried to off myself. But that doesn’t sound like me. I might be a miserable piece of shit, but I’m not ready to die yet… no matter how much it feels as though I died a long time ago. I still have work to do while I’m on this shitty, dank hell of a planet.

All I really want now is to get out of here, smoke a cigarette, and buy myself a drink. I want to go home and let my misery fuel my passion and spill it all in a blank document or a fresh canvas.

“I already told you I don’t remember any of it,” I explain.

“That’s because you were drunk,” he sighs, pausing for a moment to attempt to rub the sleepiness from his eyes. “ _Again_. Like you generally always are. And for some damn reason, it doesn’t matter how many times anyone tells you otherwise, but mood stabilizers and alcohol don’t mix.”

“So I can’t enjoy a drink every once in a while? I’m supposed to just cut the alcohol out of my life completely?” I make the stupid decision to argue. “Farlan, that’s bullshit. I'm an artist. I need to push my creative flow and I’ve been taking those medications for twenty years. I don’t even know why I’m on them in the first place. Because I’m supposedly bipolar? I don’t believe that and neither do you.”

Apparently, it has something to do with being a shitty, fucked up mess since I was five-years-old. As a kid, I’d seen numerous counselors and psychiatrists while being filtered through a shitty system of other brats without families. _Of course_ I had problems. Being an orphan isn’t exactly sunshine and unicorns. Being a different family’s kid every few months just so they can get tax benefits is certainly not the life I chose for myself.

I had breakdowns. I got angry. Most of us did. But I had learned to control myself a long time ago. With a plan in mind for my future, I got it together and whether or not my medications had anything to do with it, I wasn’t going to let manic episodes or depression tell me what to do.  I’d already been told numerous times by what few friends I have to see if I can stop taking them, but for some reason they’re just so ingrained into my daily routine that every ninety days, I find myself getting my blood tested and my prescription refilled.

“Even if you’ve been misdiagnosed, you’ve gone off the deep end this time. Nobody is going to believe that you’re not mental,” he snarls back at me. He’s aware that he’s treading into dangerous waters arguing with me, but he always puts on a brave face and goes for it anyway. “And you know as well as I do that ‘every once in a while’ comes down to a bottle of whatever suits you each night.”

“Tch. What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you have a drinking problem, Levi. I’m saying you’re an alcoholic. It's not about pushing any sort of creative flow anymore. You're sick.”

My blood begins to boil. He’s wrong. That’s not true at all. “What the hell gives you the right to make that assessment? You know nothing about it.”

“On the contrary…”

“Shut up…”

“Do you have any idea how you sound right now?” he asks with a hint of bewilderment in his callous voice. “Any idea how much you’ve changed over the past year? This isn’t you. At all. Izabel and I have done everything we can for you and all you fucking do is wallow around your apartment with a bottle in your hand. It’s been this way for too damn long. Look at yourself, Levi. This is proof.”

He’s wrong. Absolutely wrong. He has no fucking idea what he’s saying. Of course I’ve changed. Anyone would change. But summing it up to a drinking problem isn’t going to fix it. Blaming it on the one substance that gets me through the day and helps me get some actual work done won’t change what happened. Alcohol isn’t an addiction. If anything, it’s a muse - a friend.

“I went to your apartment earlier…” he confesses after an uncomfortable silence. “I’m not working your case given our history… But I wanted to get to the bottom of this. I found pills scattered all over your bedroom floor, spilled booze, and broken mirrors. What you’re doing to yourself… is far worse than you’re pretending it is. You’re raising suspicions toward yourself even more. You’re a prime suspect for this case and there’s nothing I can do about it. I know you’re innocent, but you don’t have an alibi at all while my word can only help you so much. What were you thinking crashing your car _there_ of all places?”

So maybe I blacked out and did something crazy…

Everyone has a few moments of insanity here and there, regardless of prescription drugs. Everyone. Just because most of my life has been full of more downs than ups doesn’t mean I feel the need to put myself out of my misery all the time. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean to do whatever I did that landed me in this shit hole hospital, strapped to this damn bed. That is the very last thing I ever wanted.

I just want…

I want…

I want to be left alone…

I don’t need to be reminded of something I would rather not remember in the first place. I don’t need to be guilted. I’m guilty enough. I’m guilty for the things I didn’t do. I’m guilty for the things I could have prevented had I been a better person. I’m punishing myself for it in my own way. Whether it’s at home, in this filthy hospital, or locked away in a prison cell. Nobody around me is punishing me more than I am.

So for the love of what little is good in this world, let me be.

“Farlan…” I breathe, doing all that I can to keep my temper in check, “Leave…”

“Excuse me?”

“If you’re not going to get me out of these damn restraints, I don’t fucking need you here, staring at me with pity scribbled all over your face. Go.”

“Christ, Levi… are you being serious right now…? Is this really how you’re going to-”

“You can come back when I’m ready to check out. I’m done arguing with you. I’m too tired.”

“Fine... Have it your way.”

 

* * *

 

A concussion coupled with some cuts and bruises are the extent of my physical injuries resulting from the car accident. I should have been allowed to go home days ago; however, the doctor treating me insisted that I had to be kept a while longer for a psych evaluation and that I was going through withdrawals. He said that I had spent my first two days hallucinating and needed to be kept safe from my own self, hence the restraints wrapped around my wrists and ankles.

Earlier, I wasn’t exactly nice, spitting at him venomous words, as I so often do; insisting that as a full grown man I was capable of taking a piss on my own and feeding myself. He had tried explaining to me that my abilities to care for myself in these ways is not the problem and that I needed to seek further medical attention. I had even pulled out the cursed “Do you know who I am” card. Fortunately - finally - after persuasive bitching, I was able to convince him to remove the damn things. Consequently, because Farlan is the closest person I have to family - and a fucking cop - the hospital has entrusted him with the decision of what to do with me, even though I’m fine.

On top of this marvelous heap of bull shit, I now have a fucking DUI and a court date while rumors circulate that I’m a murderer.

I just want to go the fuck home and pick up where I left off on my shitty life; let the whole damn world forget my name and keep to myself while I work.

It’s one thing to have my troubles, but I am not the drug-abusing alcoholic they’re accusing me of being. We all have our demons. Keeping me trapped here is stressing me out, no matter what medications or sedatives they pump into my system. I’ll be the first to admit that I can be difficult; however, this is overkill.

Damn it… I could really use a cigarette… and some fresh air… Not this sterile-scented musk covering up the actual filth in this place. I’ll be sure to write a thoroughly disgusted and detailed review as soon as my computer and I are reunited. Serves them right.

Eventually, someone is going to have to get used to the fact that I’m not a sweet-talking charmer and that I couldn’t give less of a shit about opinions of a bunch of useless pigs who only wanted to see me fail from the get go.

Biting, unapologetic sarcasm is all that my doctors and nurses get out of me up until I’m ready for check-out. I want them to want me here for as little time as possible. I want them to understand that it’s not any number of withdrawals or addiction making me the way that I am. This is the _real_ me. This is honest-to-God Levi being honest-to-God Levi. Accusations of substance abuse will not stop my true colors from spilling out.

I’m sure they’re absolutely fed up with me.

Good.

I’ll give them what the picture painted for them by insidious rumors and be on my way.

Luckily, I can check out tomorrow and I’ll be sure I’m careful so I don’t find myself back in this dump. But damn, I’m weak…

With my limbs sore and stiff from a lack of use, I make a feeble attempt to sit up. I feel like an old man who has withered away into nothing more than skin and bone. I know I’ve always been thin, but this is ridiculous.

Taking a deep breath, I grasp at the sheets beneath my palms and slowly set my feet on the cold tile. I’m sure it’s fucking filthy, but I’m going to have to give up the luxury that is cleanliness right now. If I can just get through this fucking day, my shower is still waiting for me at home. I can make it through. I’ve made it this long.

With only the slightest hesitation, I stand, testing just how useless my body has become in the last week. My joints are sore and my legs quiver as they struggle to hold me up from the floor. I’ve never been the biggest guy in a room, but damn, I’ve never felt so small. My body has no idea what to do with this bizarre shift in gravity, causing my head to spin. Before I can topple over, I fall back into the sheets, disappointed.

This place has sapped me of my strength while keeping me locked up like a terrifying animal. Who the hell do these people think they are by treating me like their prisoner? Humiliation is inevitable. I’m not hurting anyone but myself. I just want to get the fuck out of here as quickly as possible. I want to forget that I was ever here. I want to go home.


End file.
